Twenty Fragments of a Broken Youth
by catharticdeficit
Summary: AU What happens if you dress up as a boy, your Student Council’s Vice President is attracted to your boy form and you make a mistake: ‘You belong to me now, Fujioka.’ KyoHaru
1. Fragment One : Black

**Twenty Fragments of a Broken Youth**

**Disclaimer: **Kyoya killed the authoress when she staked claim on him.

I wanted to write something deep and dark just because my writing is littered with too much laughs. Of course, this still has a bit of a smile scattered here and there, but it's not as light hearted as my other works. Blame too much alcohol and Linkin Park on this one.

The title is lifted from _Twenty Fragments of a Ravenous Youth _by Xialou Guo, a truly remarkable book. You will also find mentions of Sylvia Plath's _The Bell Jar _in here. Both are highly recommended novels.

I mixed a sexually repressed and confused Kyoya with an angsty Haruhi, and got this. I like to see some characters broken once in a while. Also, as a brief dedication to the wonderful people out there who are shunned, shamed, and mocked by cruel idiots who cannot accept them for what they are. Gay people are still people. This fic is a little thing to show that even they are human, and the reality of their situation.

A bit of Mei-bashing, but it's necessary to make the story go along. I apologize to Mei fans in advance.

Unbeta-ed because I pile too much crap on Kalachuchi and the others. Anyone willing to beta this for me, please contact me. You must be willing to work with a writer with the attention span of gnat and is prone to having meltdowns.

_Para sa mga taong sumuporta sa akin, kahit na anong mangyari._

* * *

**Fragment One : Black**

Haruhi slumped down her seat, her face taking a deathly shade of white, a stark contrast against the darkness of her dress.

_Why does it hurt? It shouldn't hurt. Whywhywhwhywhy…._

The lawyer stared sympathetically at the young girl who was currently having a slight aneurysm in his chair. He hated this part about his job, but what could he do, really? Somebody has to do it.

"Your mother was extremely thrifty," the lawyer said, shuffling around papers in an effort to create sound that wasn't the heavy, restricted breathing of the girl or his low, monotonous voice. "She left quite a sum in your trust fund, knowing that you will need it one of these days. Now, here are the terms of the Last Will and Testament of Kotoko Fujioka…."

Haruhi was barely listening. It just can't be happening. Her mother, her beautiful cheerful, intelligent mother, died a week ago due to cancer. She had it for a while but chose to ignore it, not knowing the full consequences of her actions. Until it was too late. Before Haruhi could blink, one moment she was laughing with her, sharing a joke while they ate sushi, next her mother was in the hospital, pale, thin, and sick.

Fragments. Fragments of mere memories. A white sheet, covering her whole body. She doesn't remember crying. Doesn't remember the empty words of comfort, the brief hugs from well-meaning people.

Everything was in **white**. The sheet, the walls, the clothes of the humans around her. It was right. It was all such unnatural.

_--nothing should be as white as that--_

"Miss Fujioka, are you still listening to me?" the lawyer asked. Haruhi looked up. He was as faceless as the other people. Weird. What happened? Why is everyone so goddamned _**faceless**_?

Haruhi nodded dumbly, pale hands gripping at the hem of her dress.

"Well, your father is nowhere to be found, I'm afraid," the lawyer continued, clearing his throat. He knew he didn't have the girl's undivided attention, but he still knew that she was still distantly listening.

_Drop the bomb, then._

"Your mother has been trying to contact him, seeing as he's your only living relative so far, but to no avail. She's hired a couple of detective agencies, but even they have come empty-handed. Since you are still a minor, you need a guardian. Kotoko-san had a close friend, a Isao Sonoda. He has a daughter who's temporarily staying with him named Mei. You'll be staying with them until you're eighteen, which unfortunately will only happen in a couple of years. I spoke to Mr. Sonoda about this and he says that he doesn't mind at all. He'll explain to you all the details once you've settled in with him."

_--who are you to call my mom Kotoko? You don't know her. She was mine. They took her away. You're just like them. I can't trust you.--_

Haruhi stood, alarming the lawyer.

"I'm going home," she announced softly, not looking at him. "I need to pack. Please tell Mr. Sonoda that I will be waiting for him in a few hours."

She stalked off without another word.

--

It was tedious, the packing. Haruhi didn't really care. Get suitcase, dump stuff in suitcase, snap it shut. Clothes. Books. Those are all she needs. As long as she had Mom with her--

_--Mom will always be with her--_

The house will be sold, added to her fortune. All the things inside will have to be given away.

Haruhi knew that she cannot trust that man. She also knew that he would do his job.

Because she could see it. She knew that that man loved her Mom.

_--but I won't let you have her. She's **mine**. Mine alone. Get **away** from her--_

The memories came. Haruhi lay down on the mat, wanting to sleep, wanting to dream. Mom will be with her shortly, she thought. She always will be.

The floor was cold and hard. But she was exhausted.

Haruhi closed her eyes.

--

Somebody was shaking her shoulder, asking softly, in a voice she recalled but couldn't quite place.

"Haruhi-chan? Are you okay?" the voice said.

Haruhi sat up, rubbing her eyes. She was still wearing the black dress. She hated the dress. She wished she could take it off. But she remembered. She had to pack quickly. She was tired. She had slept.

Oh.

The face staring at her was unfamiliar. She didn't look like a lady, much. Too square jaws, nose too big, lips too thick. Long wavy hair, big brown eyes.

"Who are you?" Haruhi asked instead, sitting properly.

"I'm Kotoko-chan's best friend of sorts," the lady said. Her smile was big. She called Mom as Kotoko-chan. Haruhi relaxed. She knew she could trust this man. She loved her, but not in the way that man did. It was a safe love, love for a friend. Haruhi hoped this lady would love her like a friend, too.

"I'm Misuzu Sonoda," the lady said. "The last time I've seen you was when you were around three, so it's no surprise you don't remember me. Well, Mr. Kuroda already told you about me. I'll be the one to take care of you from now on, at least until you're eighteen. We'll have such a fun time together! You'll get to meet my daughter, too. You were friends with her until you and Kotoko-chan had to move away. Yes, that was a long time ago."

"Isao-san?" Haruhi asked, confused.

"Well, that's was my name until I had it changed to Misuzu," explained Misuzu sheepishly. "I've always known that I was a girl, though made as a boy outside. Anyway, please call me Misuzu from now on, okay?"

Haruhi nodded. She already liked Misuzu.

"Do you have everything you need?" It earned a nod from the girl. "Good. If you forget anything, we'll just come back here whenever you want. I live a good few hours from this town, but it shouldn't be a problem."

Misuzu stood up, taking the only suitcase seen in the room. Haruhi followed her outside then locked the door behind her.

"We're not coming back to this house," said Haruhi as Misuzu led her to his car parked a few yards away. "I've asked for it to be sold, and all the furniture given away."

"Oh," said Misuzu. "I suppose that makes sense." She smiled at the young girl. "Whatever you decide, I'm sure Kotoko-chan will approve."

Haruhi slid into her seat while Misuzu turned on the engine.

Haruhi took one last look at the house. The house didn't matter. The memories did. But Mom will be with her always.

That was all that mattered.

--

The ride was long, though not exactly silent. Misuzu talked about what Haruhi would expect living with her. She worked in a bar, she said. So she would be gone on most nights, but she trusted Haruhi could take care of herself.

"Mei is also there, staying with me for a while because her mother is away on Italy right now for her job," said Misuzu. "You two should get along as well as ever. She's about your age. We'll get you settled in the house tonight, then tomorrow, we'll go to the school and have you take the exams so you can be transferred. You're Mei's age; you'll be in the same grade. This feels like I'm having a second daughter!"

Misuzu realized the faux pas. Haruhi didn't really care. She should care; people are getting something while Haruhi lost. But it was the way the world worked. Some lose, some gain.

The house was small from the outside. But it had three bedrooms. One for Misuzu, one for Mei, and one for Haruhi. Misuzu said that the room Haruhi will be using used to be for storage but they could clean it up quick, at least for the night. If it's not enough, Haruhi could use the living room couch.

Haruhi said that it didn't matter.

Misuzu prepared supper for them both. It was good; it was rice omelette. But the flavour was lost on Haruhi. She couldn't taste it, she couldn't smell it.

But she just nodded, didn't smile, when Misuzu asked if it was okay.

It was time for bed. The dress was gone, bunched in the trash. It was itchy, Haruhi didn't like it. The shower took care of the itchiness.

The bed was surprisingly comfortable. It wasn't soft, yet not too firm. Haruhi burrowed herself in the duvet, the unfamiliar scent filling her nostrils. Mom used a different kind of laundry soap. It smelled of citrus. This smelled of flowers. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, but Haruhi wanted Mom's scent back.

Haruhi dragged out one of Mom's shirts from the over packed suitcase. She held it in her arms, sniffing. It still had Mom's scent. This would be enough for now. She could think that Mom was there with her.

_--Mom is always with me--_

It was the first time in months that she slept like that.

_With a smile._

--

Mei didn't like a lot of things. She liked clothes, make-up, and boys, all are staples for someone her age. She didn't like another girl coming into her home, though, and staking claim on things that should be hers.

Haruhi was not welcome here, she thought as she stared at the other girl. The girl was going to be a threat. She was cute; boys liked cute. She needed to disappear.

But Misuzu, freak that he is, would not allow that. He seemed happy that Haruhi was going to stay.

Haruhi sat down at the table, staring at the hardwood table. Mei glared at her before idea struck. Misuzu was in the next room, making breakfast.

"I'm Mei," she said, quietly assessing the girl before her. "You must be Haruhi."

Haruhi didn't reply.

"Listen, since we're going to be in the same school, we need to lay a few ground rules." Mei's tone was different; it was no longer sweet. It was hard and cold. Like the floor Haruhi slept on yesterday. "You don't talk to me at school. You will stay away from me. I don't know you and you don't know me. I don't want to be associated with a freak like you. Do you understand?"

Again, Haruhi doesn't reply.

"You're not very pretty. Not like your mom. She was pretty." At this Haruhi looked up. Mei smiled, knowing she was getting somewhere. "I suppose I should offer my condolences, but I don't know her, lest remember her. In any case, just remember what I told you or you'll regret it."

The pancakes were still tasteless on her tongue.

--

Haruhi stared at the mirror in front of her. People said she looked like Mom. She was happy, because it connected her to her. But this girl said that she was ugly, that she didn't look like Mom.

Why?

The scissors were on the medicine cabinet. It was sharp. It did good work on her hair. It was no longer long, reaching past her waist. It was now short, like a boy's.

_--do I look like you now, Mom? Do I reach you now?--_

Misuzu screamed when she saw Haruhi's state. Haruhi told her that she wanted to be like Mom, yet not be her. They were different yet they were one.

Misuzu could only try to comprehend.

Haruhi said that she wanted to be known as a boy now. Mom always wanted a son. Haruhi knew that if she became a boy for Mom's sake, it would be like Mom had two children at once. Like Misuzu, who was a lady, and a man at the same time. It was nice. It made sense.

Misuzu nodded, knowing where Haruhi was going.

From now on, Haruhi Fujioka would be known as a boy.

--

The school understood, knew it was part of the grieving process. But Haruhi felt that they really didn't. Agreeing to this made things easier, that was all.

_--nobody can understand you and me, Mom. They cannot understand our bonds--_

She was given a new uniform, but she always needed to wear a blazer or a vest to hide her chest. It was no problem.

The first day started dull. She was introduced, girls giggled at the cute new boy in 1-E.

Mei, who was in her class, could only smirk. She was winning. Haruhi was no longer a threat.

--

People thought that they knew Kyoya Ootori, but they didn't. Nobody really knew what he was like.

Girls draped themselves at his feet just as much as they did to Tamaki, the President of the Student Council. Tamaki knew of their love but didn't accept. Because he cannot love just one woman, he announced. He loves all of them, he reasoned. So he was everyone's, yet really no one's. It worked for him.

Nobody owned Kyoya Ootori. He also knew of their love for him, but never accepted as well. Flowers, chocolates, letters. They were thrown as soon as they were received. But he never received them. Tamaki did, on his behalf, without him asking to. Tamaki thought it was plain rude not to accept the confession of those girls. Kyoya didn't care.

Because he didn't like girls. He liked boys better. They were more amusing. Girls were boring. Kyoya liked amusement.

But he liked angering his father more.

He knew that he was the last hope his father had. His eldest brother cracked under the pressure of inheriting their business, and was in the mental institution. His second brother eloped, nowhere to be found. His sister was married, gone in his father's book.

Now, Kyoya was the last one. Kyoya knew that the business was essential for their family, so he agreed to take the reins when his father retires.

Yet he managed to stray away from what is expected of him. He began to chase after boys, though discreetly--a poke here, a grope there, nothing major-- but his father knew.

Yoshio had no choice. He couldn't disinherit Kyoya. It was suicide. He couldn't trust what's left of what his father left for him in the hands of others.

But he couldn't accept it, and made Kyoya's life miserable.

Kyoya made him miserable back, saying that the Ootori line will die with him.

Because he hated the bastard with all his soul. Hated that man who deigned himself worthy of his mother, forced her to give him heirs, and then killed her. It was unforgivable. He needed to pay.

So Kyoya was going to kill him slowly. But he couldn't lay his hands on him yet. That would have to wait. He needed to plan first.

But Kyoya had to hurt somebody. _**Somebody **_had to bleed.

_--it was what he needed. He needed somebody's pain to assuage his own--_

Kyoya saw him, the best target possible. He was short, a first-year, recently transferred.

He had huge brown eyes, brown hair, looked a bit average. But he was attractive in a way. He almost looked like a girl.

Kyoya had to laugh at that. He was desiring a boy that looked like a girl. He wondered how the bastard would take that.

Kyoya could feel the tightness in his pants as the boy walked down the halls, looking for his class. He knew his name: _Haruhi Fujioka_. The name was sweet on his tongue. He wondered if he tasted that sweet when Kyoya took a bite of him. That was all he knew of him. He had to know everything about him, Kyoya decided.

As Kyoya stared some more, he recognized the deadened look in the boy's eyes. He knew that look: he knew he had the same look, but only when he was alone. Outside, he was calm, cool, unflappable. It was the perfect mask.

This boy had a mask, too. He'd remove that. He'd show him pain. He needed to be hurt more.

Kyoya had a plan.

--

**Feedback?**

* * *


	2. Fragment Two : Ebony

-1Rating went up because of this chapter.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that part of the inspiration for this story is from the SasukexNaruto yaoi doujinshi, _**Frajile**_by Fuji Niya. If you want to read it, the link is at my profile. Yay to Yaoi goodness!

**WARNING: **A bit of pseudo-rape going on here, plus molestation and other lemony things so if you're uncomfortable with that, go back and find a nice fluffy fic. If you choose to ignore this and read on, become disgusted and pelt me with your vomit and rotten vegetables, go away because I don't need the extra crap in my life. Go bother someone else, you pansies.

**Fragment Two : Ebony**

Kyoya stares at the computer before him, his fingers tapping against the keys in a familiar staccato. He is only half-aware of what he is doing, writing up spreadsheets for the new branch of the company in Hokkaido, while his ears block out the incessant rambling of a loud blond behind him.

Tamaki is unaware of his friend's ignorance of his elegant description of the roses in his gardens this morning. He goes on and on, describing every silky soft petal as perfect, each leaf as divine, each thorn as mesmerising. It is sickening in Kyoya's ears. So he tunes them out. But he is still his friend. So he must sit this out.

Kyoya's eyes stray to the field outside. The Student Council's office is on the second floor, giving him a good view of the track and field oval just below.

Haruhi is crouched on one corner, wearing his PE shirt and sweatpants, not joining the noisy proceedings of his classmates. Kyoya remembered that he is one of the few privileged enough to be granted a full-year's excuse from joining PE, as they said that his health would not allow it.

Haruhi doesn't do anything, just sits there, staring at his knees, hugging them, turning a blind ear to the cruel remarks of some of the boys in his class.

_--he's bleeding, too. Why? **I** should be the one to make him **bleed**.--_

Kyoya snapped his laptop shut, earning him a jump from Tamaki.

"Where are you going, Kyoya?" Tamaki asks, concern for his long-time friend. Kyoya's been acting strange lately, but he can't place what's really wrong. He hopes it's not too serious. Maybe a branch somewhere is in a spot of trouble and Kyoya's having hell taking care of it.

Poor Kyoya. He has too much in his hands right now.

Kyoya speaks.

"I just need some fresh air. Make sure you use organic fertilizer on your roses always."

Tamaki nods, beaming.

--

PE is over. Haruhi doesn't like it. He asked to be excused from it, and the school knowing 'his' condition, agreed, as long as he was present, but not actually doing anything, it was fine.

Haruhi grabs her clothes from the lockers, preferring to change in the toilet. She uses the boys. It was a necessary façade to keep up.

_--all for Mom--_

She uses the boy's toilets, always using the stalls, not at all bothered by the loud jeers by her peers as they did their business on the stalls just outside the door. She steps out of the stall, back in his uniform, the PE things draping on her arm.

There is no one on the room. Haruhi was about to step out when two large hands grab her from behind, slamming her on a stall door.

She winces, groans, halfway to asking what's going on when a voice, deep and husky, grumbles at her ear.

"You must be Fujioka," the voice says, a tongue laving at her ear before nipping it harshly that Haruhi winces. "It's nice to meet you."

"I didn't know that this was a new form of introduction," Haruhi replies, trying to inject dryness in her tone even if her heart beats wildly in her chest and she was sweating quite profusely. From fear, she didn't know. "Slamming someone against a toilet stall and molesting them."

There is a dry chuckle at her comment while hands dip down her sloping sides.

"You're built like a woman," he says, his mouth on her neck. She smells of citrus and a hint of vanilla. Such an addicting scent. Kyoya buries his face where neck and shoulder meets, his teeth grazing against the soft skin.

_--how could anyone have this soft skin. Soft, like cotton, smooth as silk. Are you even a man?--_

"Who are you?" Haruhi manages to rasp out. His fingers are on the insides of her thighs, the thumbs making circular motions that sends flares of heat rush up her belly. She moans softly.

"Someone you don't need to know," he grounds out, grinding himself at her back, where he desperately wants to bury himself against.

"I think I have the right to know who my attacker is."

"Hn. Trust me when I say that other people would say that they would rather not know who attacks them."

"Consider me a deviant, then."

He chuckles again, deep and throaty. He is clearly enjoying this. She can feel him, feel the heat from him at her back as he rocked behind her.

"You are really strange."

His hands move from their place in her thighs, going higher, higher, until he's cupping that place at the apex.

_--no, no, don't touch me there. Go away--_

His eyes widen when he finds not what he is looking for. He stops from biting her shoulder, turning her around, his hands now at her throat, lifting her, choking her.

"What is the meaning of this?" he growls, eyes dilated in fury.

Haruhi stares at the man in front of her, sees the face beneath the anger.

"I…know…you," she chokes out. "You…were the one…with the loud blond…when I came…welcoming…me…." She tries to claw at the hand at her throat.

_--I need to breathe. Let go--_

"You're a girl!" Kyoya roars accusingly, as if that revelation was worse than the announcement of the apocalypse.

_--you were soft curves instead of harsh angles, smooth skin when you should be rough--_

Haruhi smirks at him despite the tears.

"For Mom," she says, giving up the fight. Her arms fall limply at her sides.

_--I can see her bleeding. Not enough. You need to bleed more--_

Kyoya grits his teeth. He lets her go and she fall at his feet like a crumpled doll.

Before she can regain her breathing, she hears the sound of a belt being unbuckled, the fly of trousers being pulled down.

He grabs at her hair, pulling her up. She grimaces in pain, the tears leaking out of her eyes again.

_--tears. No better than blood--_

"You'll do for now, even if you are a filthy woman," he groans. He grabs her hand, placing it on himself.

Haruhi jumps at the contact. She didn't like it at all. The thing was too hot, it was pulsing, hard. Nothing like she'd ever touched before.

It wasn't right.

"What's wrong?" he demands, forcing her hand to grab him. He shivers when Haruhi wraps small, lithe fingers around him tentatively.

Kyoya's ears perk up. Footsteps. Voices. They're coming here.

"Get up," he orders harshly. "Make yourself look presentable." He shoots her a glare that had many before her urinating on the spot. But she is way past caring, her eyes trained on the tile floor.

He grabs her hair again, forcing her to look in his eyes.

_--they're horrible. Black, infinite black. No warmth. Don't look at me with those eyes. I need Mom's eyes to look at me--_

"Tell anyone about this and better pray there is a spot in this world where I cannot reach you."

The footsteps and voices are coming closer. The door opens.

Kyoya's hands move from their place in her hair to her shoulders.

"Fujioka-san? Are you all right? You collapsed on me!"

He is good at this. Faking. He's a big fake.

"Ootori-san? What happened to Fujioka-san?" asks a voice.

"I'm not sure. He just collapsed on the floor." He helps her to stand, his movements gentle, but his grip was tight. It hurts. It's a warning.

Haruhi can't support herself on her feet. She sways dangerously. She wants to push him away.

He's hot, so hot. She didn't like that kind of heat. She wants him to go away.

Kyoya smirks inwardly. This is a nice chance.

He carries her in his arms, ignoring her startled gasp. He presses her close, dangerously close.

"I'll bring him to the clinic," Kyoya decides.

"Do you need any help, Ootori-san?" says one.

"No, I'll be fine." _--I won't let you near her. She's now mine-- _

"Well, take care."

Kyoya steps out of the toilet, Haruhi in his arms. Haruhi wants to be put down, and run away from him, from this place.

_--how can he be so hot when his eyes are so cold?--_

Haruhi is lowered to a soft mattress, her weight instantly sagging on the material. The linens are crisp, she can feel it under her fingers.

"The nurse is away for a while," Kyoya says beside her. She doesn't reply, her eyes are closed. She doesn't want to see that coldness in his eyes.

Lips. Hot and wet. They're moving on her jaw. Licking, tasting her. She suppresses a shudder, hoping that once he's through he'll leave her alone.

"I thought that you were only into boys," she comments.

"You're a special case. A very special case. I'll make an exception for you. Be grateful for it." His lips are now on her neck, sucking, marking her.

"You're disgusting."

"And you're a vile woman."

"I guess we're even then."

"Don't lower me to your level."

"If I am so low, why do you deign to own me? Why are you doing this?"

"Because possessing you is amusing. I like amusing."

"I'm not your toy." --I am Mom's. I'm not yours--

"No, you are my favourite toy. There's a difference."

"…You're disgusting."

"You're repeating yourself."

His hands are all over her, alternating between soft caresses to hard pinches. She resists the urge to moan.

_--because it hurts yet feels…good. Is it wrong to feel this way about it?--_

He moves away from her, straightening. He bends down for a last lick on her earlobe, whispering, "We'll leave it there for today, my darling Haruhi. Don't even think of not coming to school tomorrow. Remember my promise."

Before Haruhi can close her eyes again, he is gone, leaving a deep, dark coldness in the air.

--

**A/N: **Like it? Love it? Wanna wipe your ass with it? Please do tell.

**Disclaimer: **Kyoya slit my throat when I told him that he was mine. I didn't know that I even have blood in my veins. It should have been replaced by sugar, caffeine, and alcohol by now.


	3. Fragment Three : Yellow

-1**Fragment Three : Yellow**

The kiss is slick and wet. Tongues sliding easily against each other, tasting, devouring, marking, seeking.

It's the third time this week that she's been assaulted this week, Haruhi realizes as a hand rides up her undone shirt.

He's insatiable, always looking out for opportunities to corner her and proceed to molesting her. It first alarmed her, but she found that his actions….

They incited something in her. A fire that sent her already flayed nerves into overdrive.

He's always hot, lustful, and passionate. And he always acts like he can't get enough of her.

She found it disturbing at first, that a man like this lusted after her. He is dark, too dark, she thinks. Yet she is attracted too.

She began to yearn his touch, lean to his kiss, welcome his wandering hands.

She doesn't think when she's with him. And she wants it that way.

She got used to it. She got to the point she longed for it.

But there is something she knows she wants yet he couldn't give--didn't want to give.

And she didn't want it either.

A contradictory.

_He is like that. She is like that._

Haruhi focuses on his touches, his midnight hair shining under the dirty fluorescent lights. She wonders how he could look so disturbingly fascinating even in the squalid conditions of the boy's toilets.

His fingers are splayed on her skin, teasing, rubbing, smoothing. He doesn't realize that she's no longer moaning under his touches, wanting more than to gratify him at the moment.

She feels selfish. She wants the same enjoyment she's seen him benefit from the mere act of skin-on skin--his skin on hers. They tingle, they burn, they seize.

So she touches him too. Tentative, asking, and his groan is more than acquiesce to her ears and muddled brain.

The buttons are released easily, slowly, soft fingers caressing the smooth skin they uncover. He's not wearing an undershirt, she observes.

"Ootori…" she gasps as his hands reach to her breasts, fondling a pert nipple, eliciting a shiver from her.

No, not yet. She has to have her fun too.

So she hastens her movements, careless in her hurry. Finally she reaches his belt buckle, working that aside too.

Another button, a zip, and she has him in her hands.

The groan that escapes his lips fuels the desire to torment, to tease, as he had done to her so many times before.

But he didn't know he did that. He doesn't really care.

_He is selfish too._

"I thought…you didn't want to touch me." He smirks, shady eyes growing hazier in his lust for her slight tugs and strokes.

He moans again, burying his face in her neck, sucking at the sweaty skin he meets there, worrying her salty skin between pearly teeth.

"Let me make you come," she whispers in his shoulder, aghast that she had said her thoughts out loud. But there's not turning back.

So she continues, stroking him, feeling his hot skin on her cool palm. The skin is rough with hair, and wet with is liquid. Distantly, Haruhi wonders what it tasted like--him, the very essence of him.

She banishes the thought, centring her attention instead on making him groan, plead, beg, whimper against her.

She wants that feeling, that she is in control for once in her life.

It is her release.

--

Kyoya kisses her harshly again, unable to take anymore. Her hands are heaven, he admits internally, not quite willing to share anything to her just yet.

He smirks at their surroundings. They're the only ones in the school now, everyone has gone home. Even the teachers.

He gave an excuse about some extra work, she just hid until it was time. He was praised for his dedication, she was ignored, cast aside, not thought of.

It's been two weeks since Haruhi transferred to their school, thirteen days since he first tasted her.

And she still tastes the fucking same. Not sweet, bland, or anything. But it has a certain flavour to it, like what one would associate with spring water. Cool, refreshing.

It is a taste he has learned to crave like an impure addiction.

Now, she is touching him, drawing out the neediest sounds from him. He should be embarrassed, and to a certain degree, he is. Yet he cannot stop, doesn't want to stop.

What she is doing is pure torture. And it is so delicious.

One last sharp tug and he comes into her hands, the hot sticky liquid flowing freely to her awaiting hand.

She looks amazed, as if she's not quite believing she made him do that.

Lose control, release, spend himself in her hand.

In her fucking right hand.

He doesn't call out anybody's name--who should he call? Yet the harsh cry he emits rings in their ears.

It is strong, it vibrates on the walls, into their sweat slicked skin, going through their systems.

Kyoya finally looks up at her, noticing her half-lidded eyes as they continue to observe him.

He reaches up, kissing her lazily. He feels so relaxed. It is quite unlike the other times he came.

Whether it be by his own hand, or somebody's hand and mouth, he hasn't come violently like this.

_All because of her._

The euphoria breaks. He snaps and the kiss is harsher, rougher, drawing blood on her swollen lips.

_**It is not because of her. **_

She seems to like it brutal as her knees buckle and he is too unconcerned to catch her. She slumps to the floor, her cheeks red, lips bleeding, clothing rumpled, hand coated in cum.

They regain their breathing, swallowing the last of their pants.

"Why me?"

It is the standard answer when everything is done.

He shakes his head, not really understanding why she always asks. He's not prepared to answer. He will never answer is more appropriate.

In fact, he doesn't know the answer as well.

"They bore me."

It is the standard answer.

--

Haruhi doesn't move from her spot on the floor as he straightens himself and walks out of the toilet without another word.

She has rationalized to herself that it is not right to care, so why does she feel a slight twinge when he leaves like that?

What is she expecting? A straight answer for once? A cuddle? An admission of feelings?

How laughable.

She has taught herself not to react anymore. To take it all and not bat an eyelash.

Yet he's making it more and more difficult.

Never yearn. Never beg. Never whimper. Never plead.

He is not yours. You are not his.

The mantra works for a bit. She collects her senses, hoisting herself from the yellow tiles, and cleans herself up, washing her hands in the sink.

Yet he had already coated her. His scent is on hers. He is on her.

Never forever. This is temporary.

She leaves the campus with her lip still bleeding.

--

Kyoya spots her in the back of the Physical Education building. She is with three other boys from her class.

The idiots are saying something, she stays silent.

But one moron is pressing her. She still doesn't react.

He snaps, and shouts. Kyoya can't hear what he is shouting.

Yet he clearly saw the naked fury in her stance as she jumps, and lands a kick in the imbecile's face.

He crumples to the ground with a loud thud, broken and bleeding.

Haruhi is whispering in cold anger. The two jump at her.

She runs. She's not fast, but they are fat. They jiggle after her and she loses them in a corner to the Health department.

Kyoya stalks off, seeing enough. He stops a first year on his way to his next class.

"I've been told there was a brawl in the back of the PE building," Kyoya says in his most authoritative voice. The brat recognizes him and pays attention. "One is hurt. Go find a teacher. Hurry."

The first year nods tersely and scampers off.

Kyoya's mind is whirring.

He walks to the classroom, whistling.

--

The teachers give her a three-day suspension, with possible expulsion.

Misuzu is beside himself in anger--Haruhi should not have done that--and fear--she could have endangered herself.

Haruhi sits still during the inquiry.

The fat bastard's parents are pressing for her expulsion.

The principal is torn. He knows what really happened--it had happened before. He knows that Haruhi is not the only one to blame.

But the fat bastard's family is rich and they have donated a lot to the school.

So he settles for a short suspension and he says that he will review it with the board.

Haruhi doesn't care.

Maybe they will leave her alone now.

And she can't see him anymore.

Good. Excellent. As hoped.

Haruhi is excused from the office as Misuzu wants to talk to the Principal alone. So she wanders the halls, mercifully empty as everyone else is in class.

Two hands grab her and into the toilet.

Haruhi doesn't even roll her eyes in exasperation anymore.

But really, at this minute?

She doesn't even ask what he wants.

She expects the kiss, the harsh grabs, the groping.

He just stands there, gazing at her with a bored, haughty look.

"I know what they did," he begins, breaking the uneasy silence. "I saw. You have a good kick."

A corner of her mouth lifts.

"They are saying that you are going to be expulsed," he continues. "I can prevent that."

"Why should you?"

Her question is quiet. It drives the point home.

His gaze turns stormy and he approaches her. She roots herself to the floor. His arms snake behind her, and pulls out a wallet.

Her wallet.

"Because I have the power to have you locked up in juvie," he sneers, opening her billfold. "And that means you can't even have a picture. Like, oh say, your precious mother."

It is a bluff. She doesn't know that, so he waits. Waits for that yelp, that hurricane of emotion he witnessed earlier in the day.

_He needs it. Needs her rage. More than her submission, he confesses. _

His eyes are demonic, glinting dangerously, and for the first time, Haruhi is truly scared of him.

"Give that back!" Mother is in there.

He dangles it in front of her. She can't reach. She can't move.

He has her trapped.

"What do you want?" she ventures at last. She wants Mom to be with her, always with her. And they don't allow her in prison.

She knows she's been bad. But it was for Mom.

His finger strokes her cheek.

"You. Give me all of you. You will belong to me. You are mine. It's that simple."

"No."

"Too bad."

He throws her the wallet and she catches it.

"I know what happened. I know that she died. I know of Misuzu, that she--or should I say he--is taking care of you. I can make him bleed. I can ruin your mother all over again."

"Why are you going so far for this? You have other playthings!"

Her voice has risen. Good. She's panicking. She cares. She absolutely fucking cares. She knows it's not an empty threat.

It is working.

Kyoya smirks.

"I want you."

She breathes harshly. She should have known. He will never answer her directly.

Yet she knows what she must do. She can't have him hurt Misuzu. He is kind. Haruhi likes him.

"Fine," she relents. Then faces him again with a serious expression. "But I want something from you as well…."

Kyoya smiles.

_He has won._

The next day the fat bastard and his two cronies are expulsed from school and are blacklisted in other schools as well. The following week their family businesses failed.

One of the fathers kills himself a month later due to the pressure.

Kyoya just loves holding the world in his hands.

**To Be Continued **

--

**A/N: **So we have egomaniacal!Kyoya. How many more personas of Kyoya will I come up with? No excuses for the delay in the posting of this update. It's not up to much, but I kind of like it. Thanks a million to the many people who have reviewed, alerted, favourited, and read this fic. I didn't expect it to be liked by so many. This chapter is for you guys!

Unbetaed.

**Disclaimer: **Just typing that Kyoya isn't mine is making my fingers bleed.


	4. Fragment Four : Canary

-1**WARNING: **_Extreme and graphic scenes of the sexual nature are in this particular chapter. I will put in indicators/breakers where the lemon starts and ends, so you guys can skip that part if you__'__re uncomfortable with it. _

_However, as per the rules in posting on this site, I have toned down the smut as much as I could_.

-

**Fragment Four : Canary **

-

_Yellow produces a warming effect, arouses cheerfulness, stimulates mental activity, and generates muscle energy. Yellow is often associated with food. When overused, yellow may have a disturbing effect; it is known that babies cry more in yellow rooms. Yellow is seen before other colors when placed against black; this combination is often used to issue a warning. In heraldry, yellow indicates honor and loyalty. Later the meaning of yellow was connected with cowardice._

_Yellow is an unstable and spontaneous color, so avoid using yellow if you want to suggest stability and safety. Light yellow tends to disappear into white, so it usually needs a dark color to highlight it. Shades of yellow are visually unappealing because they loose cheerfulness and become dingy._

_**Dull (dingy) yellow** represents caution, decay, sickness, and jealousy.  
_

_From Color Wheel Pro_

-

"_You belong to me and to me alone."_

The words ring hollow in her ears. It is an incessant ringing that she wishes would stop.

She knows that she doesn't belong to anyone else. She is Mom's. Mom is hers. That is the only type of ownership that she can allow.

_**I can hurt Misuzu. **_

No, Misuzu is nice. Haruhi likes him. He is kind, and sweet, and loves Mom like a true friend. That's why she took in Haruhi when she had nobody else. She can see that she cares for her.

It makes Haruhi feel secure, warm, as if Mom is there. Maybe she was. Maybe Mom's spirit is in her.

So Haruhi loves Misuzu.

That's why she can't let that man--that dark man--take her, hurt her. It will be like Mom hurting all over again. It's not right. Mom needs to be safe.

And Haruhi agrees. Reluctantly to be sure, but she says yes.

She belongs to him.

It is a lie.

_--you own my body, you don't own me--_

Another fucking lie.

--

Kyoya stares down at the boy crumpled at his feet. The boy is breathing heavily, spent yet pleasured by Kyoya.

The boy smiles sleepily at him, reaching with small hands. Kyoya doesn't hold it, keeps his hands at his sides. The boy frowns, sitting up.

"Kyoya-san…" he begins but Kyoya beats him to it.

"Don't call me so familiarly," he snaps.

Kyoya doesn't know what's wrong. He had hired this boy at a new place. They said that he was just a beginner and he would be his first. That got Kyoya pleased. He liked new playthings.

So _**whywhwywhywhy**_ can't he feel the same?

The _**same**_ as when he touches that vile **woman**?

**It's not right. **

_--I see your skin underneath my fingertips, your mouth against my own, your essence under my skin--_

And the fact that this boy--small, fragile, brown--looked so much like her did not make his heart jump.

He is going mad.

That's all it was. The vile woman bewitched him.

_It is all her fault._

He grabs the boy by the hair.

"Pleasure me."

The boy smiles, eager to take his turn.

"I thought you'd never ask."

That saucy smirk, those narrowed eyes.

_They're not the fucking same._

When the boy touches him, all he feels is absolute disgust.

_This is not my fault._

--

Misuzu is worried. She had called Haruhi's former school and they said that she had always been a well-behaved child. A bit antisocial, but that was only because she was always so focused on her studies.

Why, then, had Haruhi been picking fights at school?

It's not like her. Kotoko-chan would roll in her grave if she heard about this.

So Misuzu asks Haruhi.

"They made fun of Mom. They had to break, so I did it. They do not deserve the mercy."

The answer is flat, delivered monotonously. Yet the venom is there.

Misuzu felt herself shiver at that tone.

"But it's not right," Misuzu hedges, clearly at a loss of what to say. "Just don't listen to them, simple as that. Shrug it off or report it to the teachers."

Haruhi stares at spot but doesn't really look at her.

"It's their fault. I acted accordingly. I cannot forgive anything that insults Mom."

Misuzu gives up. She is harder to deal with than Mei!

"Okay, but you are grounded for two weeks," sighs Misuzu, defeated. "You go straight home after school, no TV, and you will help more than usual with the chores."

Haruhi shrugs. It's not a punishment at all if you do the same things you do everyday.

Misuzu sighs again.

"You can go back to your room. I'll call you when dinner is ready."

Haruhi gets up without another word and heads for her room. But in a way, she's sad. Misuzu is disappointed in her.

_--Maybe Mom is disappointed in her, too--_

Haruhi locks the door behind her and slumps down. The shiver that racks her body threatens to have the tears overflow at last.

They are wet against her cheeks. Salty, bitter, with a slight tang. Like blood.

The tears are real.

She wishes it were blood.

--

Kyoya is going insane.

He knows that, yet refuses to fully acknowledge it.

_--Idon'twanther-- _

She's familiar, that's why. It isn't true desire.

She's disgusting. She's a woman.

Kyoya is walking to school today. Walking helps clear his head.

He spots her, just crossing the street. He waits in the alley.

He grabs her by the wrist, pulling her. Haruhi tries to stop him, surprised.

When she sees that it is him, she just sighs.

The lips press on her immediately, and she does not resist. It is bruising, it is biting.

As if he's got something to prove.

He slams her on the damp wall and Haruhi can feel a bruise swelling at the back of her head.

She groans in pain, which he mistakes for delight.

"Can't do it here," he rasps and pulls her again.

"Where are you taking me?" Haruhi takes the chance to speak. "We have school. I have class…Misuzu will be… What about your perfect record?"

"Shut up!" he roars.

He leads her to a building a few streets away from the school. It is inconspicuous, and quite uninteresting.

He opens the door, and Haruhi sees a hallway lined with doors.

He pulls out a key from his pocket and opens number 212.

The room is simply furnished. A bed in one corner, a desk, a small TV, a desktop, and a phone. A canary yellow curtain fails to block out most of the light pouring in from the closed window.

It looks well-kept and used.

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"This is mine," says Kyoya, throwing her on the bed. And Haruhi knows what he wants. She tries to struggle but he pins her on the bed. She can't move.

Tears well up in her eyes.

_--I want blood. **Break. **Break under me--_

Haruhi remembers the promise so Mom wouldn't hurt anymore. That she is his. And she needs to do this to please him.

He removes his jacket, loosens his tie. Kicks off his shoes, unbuckles his belt.

He tries to undress her but she flails, still wanting to protest till the very end.

His hand makes sharp contact against her cheek and she stops. She can taste the blood on her mouth. A bit of it drips on the corner and into the pristine white sheets.

_--the same white they put on Mom. Ihatethiswhite--_

"Why do you want me so much?" she whispers.

Kyoya bites into her smooth neck, then laves the mark with his tongue.

"Shut up. I don't want you. This is not want."

"Then what is it?"

She stares defiantly at his black orbs screaming lust, anger…and need.

_**Need.**_

He _needs_ her.

Haruhi looks away, unable to bear the desire she saw. It's not right.

Nobody craves her. Nobody should yearn for her.

_She'll start to need, too. _

Kyoya licks at the glistening red liquid on her lips. Delicious. As sweet as he imagined. It makes his cock twitch for more.

Her blood is his drug.

He **allows** that it is her blood that he needs. Not _**her**_. Not really her.

He smiles as he removes her clothes hurriedly.

He can live with that.

-- (lemon starts)

Pale, creamy skin greets his eyes as the shirt is removed from the unresponsive girl beneath him. He has seen this before, but it still delights him in so many ways.

He wants to bite at every inch of it, mark her, finally own her. Make that ivory skin turn red from his attentions.

Her neck is so smooth. Not rough with stubble, unlike his many other conquests.

He sinks his teeth on it, unable to help himself. He can smell her fragrance.

Citrus. Some sort of fruit. And her own musk.

Kyoya likes the scent. It captivates him, sends his blood pumping through his veins faster and faster until he can't breathe.

He closes his mouth on hers, as if sucking the very essence of her.

Haruhi doesn't open her eyes, willing it all to be a dream.

She traps her lip between her teeth when he bites. They're painful, hard enough to draw more blood.

His kisses trail lower, his fingers probe and massage every inch of her, inciting the most arousing noises from her. High-pitched squeaks that should grate on his ears, but doesn't.

He wants more. Need her to scream his name in agony and ecstasy.

He removes the last scrape of clothing from her. His gaze travels all over her body.

So pale, so smooth.

_**Mine.**_

And he attacks once more, and Haruhi gasps, the torture too much for her fraying nerves and blown senses.

And it is her that needs more now. Her that wants him everywhere.

She doesn't realize that she has said that out loud and he chuckles darkly.

"Undress me."

It is an order, which Haruhi complies dumbly. Her movements are slow, removing his tie, pulling at his shirt.

Alabaster skin, hard muscles appear before her. She trails a soft finger down, tracing the path of fine ebony hair down.

He shivers at her touch.

The button is undone and the pants are kicked away hurriedly.

Haruhi stares at the bulge underneath his boxers.

His fingers tighten their hold on her waist in agony as she lets her fingertips dance on the waistband.

She reaches up to him.

"What do you want? Tell me," she whispers against his ear, wanting to hear the raw need in his voice.

_--control you like you control me--_

"Shut up! I call the shots here!" he shouts suddenly. He pushes her back to the bed roughly. She stares at him with wide eyes.

He rips off his underwear, and before Haruhi can blink, he is inside her.

They groan--both in pain, and in pleasure.

He slid in so easily, he thinks dimly. No need for lube.

He is his first girl, and it's so much more different.

So tight, so wet, so sweet.

The sounds of violent sex fills the air with the combined musk of their arousal and need. It is thick, and they cannot breathe.

Haruhi feels the pain.

_--so, so much pain; pleasurable pain--_

Her insides stroke him, the muscles clutching him at every entrance, at every exit from that tight hole. He is unrelenting, ignoring her pained protests as he reaches further, deeper.

Her head moves from side to side, unable to bear it all.

She wants to burst. She fills so full.

A heated groan escapes her lips and he feels the last of his restraint snap. He growls, and releases.

The liquid hurts her, shooting out inside her.

He collapses on her tired body, sweat shining on their naked bodies.

It was the most violent Kyoya allowed himself to be.

And he loved every minute of it.

Yet he doesn't want to admit that it is because of her.

Fuck the denial.

He doesn't want to move out of her yet, comfortable in his position.

"Let me go," she complains. Her voice is hoarse from the screaming she did.

_--letmehearyouscreamonemoretime--_

He reaches up for a kiss, and Haruhi can feel him growing _inside_ her. Her eyes widen.

"We just can't, no…we just…"

His lips drown out her words.

-- (lemon ends)

Much, much later, when Haruhi has left, seemingly unable to walk, Kyoya stares at his bed sheets.

Covered in their liquid, particularly hers. He rips it out of the mattress, fingering the spots of red against the stark white.

Such a lovely contrast.

He folds the sheet carefully and stows it on the closet.

His new plaything is finally _breaking_.

He found a new favourite. He brings the alcohol to his lips.

He can't wait until he can posses her again.

--

**To Be Continued**

--

**A/N: **Like it? Hate it? Is it worthy enough to be confetti? Please do tell. It's my second lemon, but I'm still nervous about how I did. A reviewer told me that there are a lot of Kyoya-molests-Haruhi stories out there, and thinks it's gross, but what can I say? I love making new facets of Kyoya. One of my only joys, I'm afraid. So I made it hard-core (sort of) this time. Thanks a lot to my awesome readers and reviewers! You guys make this story happen! XD

One also asked me what the connection is between the colours indicated on the chapter title, so I'm going to put in a meaning of the colour used and you guys can work it out.

**Disclaimer: **When I tried to court Kyoya, he told me he was gay…so what the hell is he doing making out with Haruhi?


End file.
